Fear, Comfort, and Secret Hand-Holding
by Ginny Salvatore
Summary: Harry wondered of they had fallen asleep holding hands. What happened when Harry was brushing his teeth during DH.


**Disclaimer: Thank you to our Queen for letting me use her characters.**

** set during Deathly Hallows. When Harry wonders if Ron and Hermione fell asleep holding hands**

Grimmauld Place had become shadowy and dark. twilight turning to evening, evening dwindling into night.

It wasn't strange, them living together. They had shared living space for years now, at school and at the Burrow during holidays. Still, things felt new. Temporary, yet simultaneously permanent—like they were in a brick house for now, but who new how long it would be before a tornado ripped their sanctuary from them?

As the clock chimed 11, Hermione stood up and stretched her arms. She rummaged through her beaded handbag for the three sleeping bags and rolled them out onto the faded blood-red carpet in the center of the sitting room. Harry and Ron had pushed the furniture aside to make room for themselves. Now it looked like they had built fortifying walls. In facing the unknown they would feel safe, if only for tonight.

It wasn't strange to be together; but it was slightly time they were cooking for themselves and sharing a closet (well, a magically enlarged handbag—but a closet when it came right down to it.) They only had each other. If they didn't stick up for and take care of each other no one would.

She heard thumping footsteps climbing the stairs. Her heart sped up for an instant as Ron came in, bearing two glasses of water. Putting one down a few feet from the head of each of their sleeping bags, he sat down on his and tossed her a quick smile.

"You alright?" he said, cocking his ginger head to the side.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then she caught herself, blinked, and walked toward him briskly. "Yes," she said quietly, dimming her voice to match the light that Ron had so kindly borrowed from a shop up the street. She sat down on her sleeping bag and looked over at Ron. He stretched and yawned.

And then, suddenly, he said: "Hang on. Get up."

"What? What's wrong?" Hermione felt a jolt of anxiety as she quickly stood again. "What did you see?"

Ron stood up again as well. He walked toward the corner of the room where sat an ugly side table and two standing lamps with shades made of stained glass. These had been pushed aside with the rest of the furniture. There was a look of concern on his face.

"Ron, what is it? Did you notice something important?" She followed him as he walked the length of the wall and examined the furniture: a gigantic wooden armchair, intricately engraved; an old wooden coffee table; a long, musty, green sofa. Ron stopped, pulled out the sofa's three cushions and beat each of them against the coffee table. Closing her eyes because of the dust, Hermione asked again, "Ron, what are you doing?"

"Can't let you sleep on this dingy old floor," he said, pushing the sofa to where Hermione's sleeping bag lay. It filled the gap between the two sleeping bags and he readjusted the cushions before spreading her sleeping bag on it.

"What are you on about?" Her anxiety gave way to increasing amusement.

"Seriously, Hermione, this floor is revolting."

"Why me?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "There are three of us."

"Harry's not here, so he can scrounge for himself," Ron said dismissively as he lay down on his own sleeping bag. Now a mere few inches from her spot.

"He's just brushing his teeth. And what about you, may I ask?"

"Hermione, use that brain of yours! I'm simply too tall. I'd be hanging off the end from my knees down!"

"I see," Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to keep from outright laughing, "I have heard that you are incredibly tall."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Now get comfy."

Hermione sat gracefully down on her couch/bed and took a long drink of water from the glass he'd brought her.

Nothing was said for a few minutes more. She braided her hair and listened to him drink his water. She saw the dark ring left on the carpet by the condensation from the cool glass.

"Hermione?" He asked breaking the silence.

"Yes?" She whispered.

He looked up at her and a smile cracked onto her face.

"It's just that it's hard enough to have my family far away and not be able to talk to them, or know if they're okay, and I just sort of feel like I don't… want you out of my sight. You know what I mean?"

She did know. She absolutely knew. No one but Ron could stammer and falter and still have it come out as sweet nothings. Then before she knew it she had reached for him and hugged him so tightly that she fell into his lap. He was hugged her back, gently at first and then with an unexpected strength. She pressed her face into his shoulder, and she could have sworn she felt the brush of his lips at her neck.

She laughed a sob and then heard him exhale for a long moment, as though he had been holding his breath. Finally, he chuckled into her hair and loosened his hold on her. Then his hands were holding her head to his chest.

It was too tempting. Harry would be back in the room any minute. She let herself linger for another instant before breathing deeply; and the sighed and let go.

"Goodnight, Ron."

"Goodnight," Ron said quietly, clearing his throat, "goodnight, Hermione."

Later, after Harry had come in, after the remaining lights had been deluminated, and just as she was drifting off, she felt a hand at hers, sneaking over: quiet, warm, soft.

She took it and she held on.


End file.
